Obsession
by Angelo Braxton
Summary: Jackson is living a seemingly perfect life. The illusion is interrupted when eerie things start happening. Cocoons, relatives he never knew he had visiting, and nightmarish screams coming from the town hall. Jackson must solve this mystery or die trying.
1. Perfect Peaches

Jackson sat up in bed like a bullet from a gun. He had been having a nightmare about being driven through the rain by a devilish turtle spouting pirate slang. He now had a splitting headache. What the hell? Had he been hit over the head with a rock?

Jackson crawled out of his small bed as though he _had_ been bashed with a rock. The wooden floorboards creaked under his feet. He couldn't remember anything. It was as if his mind had been completely wiped.

Jackson staggered across the creaky wooden floor to the mirror. Judging by his looks, he was about 12. His hair was an unnatural looking black and about as disheveled as his bed. He must have been thrashing about that night from his nightmare.

Like molasses, his memories began slowly oozing back into his mind. First on his agenda, he needed something for breakfast.

Quick as a rabbit, Jackson bolted down the creaky staircase in the corner of the attic. His furious dash was interrupted when he noticed his ground floor. It was completely empty save a busted old boom box and a cardboard box. Something seemed fishy but he had no idea what. He simply shrugged away his suspicion.

He walked over to the door and fumbled a bit with the lock before finally taking a step outside.

The cool autumn air was like a swift slap in the face. Jackson instantly remembered everything. The wind was blowing quietly, like ghosts whispering amongst the trees. It was early as hell. The sun was barely up and his neighbors were all in the safe haven of their homes.

His stomach growled. He did not wish to be delayed any longer. Jackson began striding away from his sad excuse for a house, built buy some damn, six-foot tall raccoon who had obviously had ignored any safety precautions. It looked like it would collapse into oblivion, for heaven's sake! Jackson pushed the angry thought from his head and continued striding amongst the thinly scattered trees, looking for one tree bearing a treasure: perfect peaches.

A river flowed along the side. His world was perfect. Of course, in truth it wasn't even close. And Jackson was about to find that out the hard way.

Still, Jackson enjoyed his seemingly perfect day as he walked along side his seemingly perfect river amongst the seemingly perfect trees looking for seemingly perfect peaches. He strode along glancing up at the treetops. Finally, he came to a tree on a small cape of land that bore big, juicy, delicious peaches.

Unfortunately, the peaches were out of reach. Luckily, he remembered an old trick. He grabbed the tree and, without much effort, shook three peaches from the canopy. A peach landed perfectly at his feet.

Jackson picked it up, licking his lips like a dog staring at his master's dinner. He was about to sink his eager teeth in when his headache came back. It was even more violent this time. It felt as though somebody was tearing his head in two. Without warning, Jackson collapsed at the base of the tree.


	2. My Guest is Awake

Jackson awoke in a cold sweat, a horrid chill running through his spine. The kind you have when watching a horror movie. Jackson, however, was not watching a horror movie, he was basically in one.

He glanced around at the room. It was messy as hell. The carpet was grimy and dirty, made out of cow skin (the irony). The walls were the same color as the ocean when companies pour all their disgusting waste into it.

If you didn't already guess, the room was slobby. That's when Jackson saw his host. A pig with the kind of scars you only see on war veterans.

"Well, well, well," The pig hissed, letting sarcasm leak into his voice, "I guess my _guest_ is awake?"

Jackson realized he had been sleeping on a cowhide couch that was almost as appalling as the rug. Almost.

"Who are you?" Jackson mumbled.

The pig chuckled, "I'm Rasher. You'd better get used to all this grime, though."

Why?" Jackson asked quietly, then added under his breath, "it ain't like I'm coming back to this slob-fest ever again."

"Because," Rasher replied, almost to tease Jackson, "My friend the mayor has commanded me to... _keep and eye on you..._"

"Then you'll answer a question," Jackson hissed, infuriated he was being kept here against his will when he could do so many other things...

"What?" Snapped Rasher as irritably as the thing from Sesame Street who lived in a garbage can.

"You're going to tell me what's up with my headaches."

"...No." Rasher said flatly, "End of discussion."

"Then I'm leaving." Jackson replied, imitating Rasher's tone as perfectly as a mockingbird.

As soon as Jackson stood up, Rasher was upon him like a hawk on a rabbit. With surprising strength for an old man, Rasher propelled Jackson upon the couch. The couch whined and spat out a cloud of dust, leaving Jackson covered with grime and taken aback.

"You ain't leaving, boy," Hissed Rasher quietly.

Jackson nodded timidly, still in shock from the strength of the old man.

Rasher let out a deep laugh, "Oh, don't worry, boy! We can go outside its just that I have to...monitor your... activities...yes...activities..."

Jackson knew something was wrong. And as he followed Rasher out the door that morning, he was determined to get to the bottom of it.


	3. Rasher's Coffin

It had been a week. Jackson and Rasher had occupied themselves by fishing, chopping wood, and catching bugs. Rasher seemed jumpy whenever Jackson would make conversation with another resident. Jackson's headaches were completely gone.

That particular day, Rasher and Jackson were chopping down a tree that seemed as stubborn as a donkey. The trunk was as thick as car tires.

They were lounging on their axes, contemplating how to chop down the reluctant tree.

"I have an idea," Rasher exclaimed happily, "What if our axes our too dull for this kind of work? Keep chopping I'll go get a new axe."

"Sure," Jackson replied, the idea seemed fairly good. It was better than standing around all day chopping this tree that refused to fall.

Rasher nodded vigorously and sprinted off like a gazelle towards Tom Nook's dusty old shack that was possibly even sloppier than his own house.

Jackson sighed and went back to work. His back ached. His arms throbbed. But he was determined to finish the job. After what seemed like ages, Rasher had still not returned. The tree was almost down and Jackson was in more pain than he was in when he had the violent headaches.

After hours of backbreaking labor, the tree was on its last legs. It would take only about five more swings of the axe to fell the tree. Finally, with one last master stroke, the tree submitted to Jackson's blows. It fell like a rock.

Jackson was bouncing up and down with excitement. He had finished it without Rasher. The work was finished! Unfortunately, so was Rasher.

The was a bloodcurdling shriek that would make even Chuck Norris cringe. Jackson noticed, with the tree no longer obstructing his view, that Rasher had returned. But not alive. The falling tree had crushed him.

There was something scary. There was no blood, despite the branch piercing Rasher's body. There was no wounds. Rasher looked as though he was still alive...just motionless.

That's when the creepiest part happened. A blue cocoon enveloped Rasher's corpse. It was covered in demented symbols and lines. Without warning, the cocoon turned green as the grass. It slowly melted away into nothing.

Jackson was scared. Nothing like this had happened before. An eerie silence hung over the crime scene

"I see you chopped down the tree," Somebody extremely close whispered, cutting the silence like a knife.

Jackson looked up to see who was speaking to him.

It was Rasher.


	4. Let's Hope to God

The doctor briskly lead their patient's mother through the twisted corridors. Finally, they arrived at the door of the room. He opened it to reveal a small boy, strange headgear crowning his head.

"You're lucky your boy was able to receive this treatment, ma'am," The doctor stated, "There was another boy who was going to take this treatment before your son...Jackson I think his name was. This new treatment has cured two children of autism."

"Thank you, doctor," The boy's mother replied, in a fairly good mood despite the fact that her only son was lying comatose like a corpse with a hat of mangled wire and steel stuck to his head. How could she trust this psychopath?

"Let's see," The doctor murmured, rummaging through a folder like a bear searching a camper's cooler for food, "What was your son's name again?"

"Andrew," The mother replied hurriedly, "Andrew Beterli."

"Ah..." The doctor hissed like someone who had escaped from a mental hospital, "Let's see..." The doctor trailed off.

Unexpectedly, the door burst open as though a bomb had been set off. A short, thin man resembling Ryan Seacrest was standing in the center in the room in a flash.

"Sir," The stranger whispered, "We've had a system malfunction. It looks like a hacker."

"What files is he targeting?" The doctor exclaimed in shock.

"I have absolutely no idea yet. The virus is prohibiting them from letting us see what's wrong. We have to go now."

The doctor began marching out of the room when he was stopped as if by a chain by Mrs. Beterli's voice, "Wait! Will my son be okay?"

The doctor turned grimly as hissed, "Let's hope to god that he will be."


	5. A Second Scar

Jackson stretched his arms out like a cat waking from its slumber. His eyes flickered open. He was asleep on the cot that Rasher had laid out for him.

This fool was getting pretty paranoid. Jackson turned and, quiet as a mouse, put his feet on the dirty cowhide rug and let out a yawn. Rasher shot out of bed, prepared for a fight to the death. Yup, there was no doubt at all that he was in some war.

"Oh..." Rasher yawned, "It's only you..."

Jackson rolled his eyes at Rasher's extreme paranoia. Actually, it was pretty hard to blame him with all the weird things happening. Were they happening to Rasher, too? The headaches? Had he seen the cocoon with his body in it as well?

Rasher had used his tongue, sharp as a dagger, to convince Jackson that the headaches had caused the hallucination. Rasher's little trick had worked until he realized that the headaches had only happened twice in the same day. Jackson cautiously avoided telling Rasher this, fearing he would be slammed into the couch.

The next thing Jackson knew, Rasher was commanding Jackson like a drill Sargent to eat the oatmeal that he had placed on the dirty wooden table.

Jackson moved slowly to the food and relocated a spoonful to his mouth.

"Um...Rasher..." Jackson asked sheepishly, "Why the heck are you so paranoid?"

Rasher sighed and stated flatly, "War."

This was a lie. If it was the truth, Rasher wouldn't have given it away without a fight. Jackson already knew it was better to pretend to buy Rasher's lies than fight him for him like some stubborn fool.

"Listen," Rasher whispered as if raising the white flag, "You've been pretty responsible lately so I've decided you can handle yourself. When you're finished with your oatmeal, get the hell outta my sight."

Jackson tried to contain his excitement but it seemed like a dam had broken, letting out a flood of joy. Thank God. This old man was no longer going to be watching him like a creeper. To avoid shouting out and delight and at the same time leave as soon as possible, Jackson shoveled spoonfuls of oatmeal into his mouth as though he were some kind of hungry animal. Rasher's eyes flickered. He thought, for just a moment, he could detect a smile on his jailer's face.

Finally, the last of the oatmeal had gone down Jackson's vacuum of a gullet.

"Thanks for your hospitality," Jackson whispered, standing up and leaving as quickly as humanly possible. Rasher didn't respond at all. He just sat there staring blankly at the door.

Jackson slammed open the door of his prison and jumped for joy. That's when he noticed who was standing before him. The mayor, who was a turtle that looked like a demon, was flanked by two guard dogs, armed with spears and covered in armor. Had they figured out that he murdered Rasher? Were they going to put him in quarantine for his headaches?

"Step aside, boy," The mayor growled in his raspy voice. Jackson obeyed without hesitation, although he would regret it. The dogs stormed into Rasher's house followed by the mayor, who dawdled to say to Jackson, "Run along boy. It's what's best for you."

That's when it hit him. Rasher had never been told by the mayor to watch over Jackson. He had kidnapped Jackson, instead. He let him go because he knew the mayor would be coming to investigate!

The door slammed as loudly as a cannon firing. The lights in the house dimmed until they were nonexistent.

Jackson glanced through the window into the gloomy house.

"So," The mayor hissed, "Why did you kidnap the boy? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I don't know..." Whispered Rasher in fear, "There was a voice inside my head telling me to. I was helpless. I had no choice!"

"Fine," The mayor growled, "You shall be punished, then!"

The dogs raised their spears and plunged like a cat closing in on a mouse. Rasher screamed out in agony. The mayor took pulled something from his pocket. It was thread and a needle.

A sudden dizziness seized Jackson. He fell to the floor and put his head between his knees while Rasher screamed like a banshee in the background. Finally, Jackson recovered and ran as fast as he could back to his safe haven. His fortress. His home. He knew why Rasher had the scars. He slammed the door shut and locked the door. He jumped into his bed and hid under his covers like a three year old, moaning.

He sat there for a long time. Waiting for it to end. It was midnight. That's when he heard them. The screams started again. This time, however, they were not Rasher's. They were familiar. They were his cousin's.


	6. Blood and Nails

"Jackson! Jackson! Wake up!" A quiet voice hissed. It was Rasher.

Jackson pulled the covers from over his head, the screams continued, "I wasn't asleep."

"It doesn't matter," Rasher hissed, "You have to get out of here, no matter what. No matter what mind games they play with you! This place is supposed to be happy but... there's... something messing it up."

Jackson's eyes strayed to Rasher's fresh scar. There was dried blood splattered all around it. Jackson cringed imagining the amount of pain it must have caused.

"Do you know that voice? That scream?" Rasher hissed.

"It's my cousin..." Jackson murmured. In truth, he didn't remember he had a cousin until this point. He didn't know he had a family until he had just thought about it now. Something had distracted him from that. That's when he remembered that day he woke up and couldn't remember anything. What was this? Did they brainwash him?

Jackson opened his mouth to speak but he saw Rasher's eyes widening. The cocoon with the demonic symbols on it was consuming Rasher's figure right before his eyes. He couldn't believe it. This couldn't be happening.

This time, the cocoon turned brown to match the floor boards before dissolving into them. Disturbingly, this time Rasher did not return before him.

Jackson bolted out the door, going straight for Rasher's house. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. As hard as he tried, he could not find Rasher's house. He began to look for landmarks. That's when he found where Rasher's house was.

There was a place where the grass melted into a rectangular patch of dirt. Rasher's house had vanished. There was only one object left. Jackson crept forward as slowly as possible.

There was a bloody nail, holding down a bloody piece of paper. The paper had writing on it, written in fresh blood. Jackson read it slowly:

"Dear Jackson,

We had so many good times together. But, its time for me to move on. I hope you can remember me.

Your Friend,  
Rasher."

Jackson had a strange feeling he was missing something. Rasher did not write this. He tore the letter from the nail with trembling hands and turned it over. There was a shorter message on the back:

"RUN"


	7. A Life Long Wait for a Hospital Stay

The door to the hospital room creaked open.

"May I come in?" A timid boy, about fifteen, whispered. Careful not to wake his cousin who was wearing the jacked up headgear.

"Yes, Henry," The boy's mother lamented, "It's not like he's waking up anytime soon. With what they did to him and all..."

"I know..." Henry sighed, "I feel bad for him... My poor little cousin."

Mrs. Beterli nodded silently and sadly, "I'm going to get a latte."

Henry nodded as the Mrs. Beterli fled the room, tears streaming from her face like the blood from Rasher's scar.

Unfortunately, Henry was as curious as a cat. He pondered what his cousin was going through. Unfortunately, he had no idea the crisis that his cousin was in.

There was another pair of headgear in the corner of the room on the bed adjacent to his cousin...

Henry approached them slowly and grasped it tightly. Quickly, he put the headgear on his head and lost consciousness.

Jackson stood there glancing over the letter in his hands. It was not written in blood like the one when Rasher's house disappeared but this one looked as though it was typed.


	8. My Torn Stitches

It was slowly flowing into his head that Rasher had not tried to "kidnap" Jackson to kill him, but to save him from the insanity. He now glanced over the first letter he had pulled from his mailbox in weeks:

"Hello Jackson,

I'm new here. I actually moved in last night. I was hoping we could be best buds. You wanna come visit my house?

Your soon to be friend,  
Stitches"

The disturbing name was scrawled at the bottom. It was as if the entire letter had been printed out and then the "sender" scrawled their name at the bottom. It was pretty obvious that that was the case. Tom Nook and Tortimer and all their propaganda crap.

Stitches, whatever disturbing name the creep had been given, had included a map to his shack. After glancing at the letter map for a while, it hit Jackson like a brick through a convenience store window. The house was in the same place as Rasher's. What the hell kind of game was this?

Whatever mind game these animals were playing with him, Jackson decided it was worth investigating. It was a nice day as if mocking him Rasher's disappearance. Jackson couldn't keep his mind from straying to his cousin. Where was his cousin anyways?

Finally, he arrived at the creep's house. He was afraid to go in. What if this guy was some kind of murderer? It didn't matter.

He slowly opened the door. It was pitch dark. Through the light streaming from the crack in the door, Jackson could make out a figure curled up in the corner.

"I've been expecting you..." Rasped the stitched up bear.

Jackson stared at the bear in utter fear. The thing was missing both eyes which were replaced with mismatching buttons. It was not an animal but purple and orange cloth stitched together. Jackson briefly wondered if this was some kind of costume that Tortimer had pieced together in order to play mind games with Jackson.

There was another question: How the hell did the house get there overnight in the first place? Jackson's fear was eating him alive as he stepped through the door and into the dark empty room.

"Follow me." Stitches rasped, standing up and then limping out the door. Jackson followed close behind.

They walked through the nice weather, or, in the case of Stitches, limped. Jackson didn't think anything of the limp, because it was a bear with no eyes and it was bound to have a few problems.

Finally, they arrived at a short tree.

"I don't see anything." Jackson mumbled, afraid that Stitches would snap his neck.

Stitches pointed higher up on the trunk. It was the same nail that the note had been nailed to the ground on. Except, this time, it was in a tree and nailing down something else. Rasher's severed arm.

Jackson was dizzy. There was an outline of a human form on the tree. The arm was placed where an arm would be. This was definitely some satanic ritual.

"What's your name?" Stitches hissed quietly, glancing around as though the guard dogs would kill him any second.

"Jackson," Jackson whispered.

"No," Stitches hissed, "It's Andrew. You don't belong here. There's another world where you do. This place is screwed up. You can die here. When you...were in the real world... and fed your addiction to video games you always named your character Jackson. I read in the paper... There's a homicidal maniac hunting Jackson Jones..and...and,"

Stuffing erupted from the stuffed animal's chest. "Andrew" could make out a spear pointing through. The guard dogs had found him.

Using their spears, the dogs dragged the limp body into some resident's house, hoping, no doubt, that they wouldn't mind the blood stains.

There were a million questions buzzing in Andrew's mind like a swarm of angry bees. However, the most dominant one was; why the hell would stuffing come out of Stitches? After all, when Rasher was stabbed he bled. There was only one possibility: Stitches _was _a sick costume for Rasher. It was the only possibility.

Andrew creeped over to the window, acting like a stalker in a repeat of Rasher's punishment. Perhaps part of Tortimer's mind game was to play back time for Andrew.

The tallest and most well-built dog, Copper, pulled a hunting knife from his belt. The shorter and fatter one, Booker, kept his spear on their hostage.

Andrew cringed at the knife, as though expecting them to decapitate Stitches. Slowly, Copper cut the back of the bear's neck and tore the head off, revealing a cloud of perfectly white stuffing.

Then, like a swarm of vultures, the dogs bore down on the stuffing tearing out tufts. The more they took out, the more disturbing the present situation became. The stuffing was beginning to turn pink, like when you cut into an undercooked steak. After a few more seconds, the stuffing was red with blood and Andrew could make out the shape of a head. A _human_ head. He was dizzy.

That's when he noticed _who _the head belonged to. It was his cousin.


	9. Into the Darkness

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Copper asked in a sickly sweet tone.

His cousin, Henry the name Andrew wanted to give him, snapped back like a rabid dog, "You said as long as I didn't tell him who I was you'd let me live.  
I didn't tell him, did I?"

Copper snorted, "What kind of idiot do you take me for? You were going to tell him! He needs to be finished. I have strict orders from Pritchard!"

Pritchard...where had Andrew heard that name before?

Copper grunted like a frustrated gorilla, "Kill him, he's useless."

Booker nodded and tore Henry from his seat and hurled him to the floor. Thenhe shoved him into the corner of the room like he was some kind of old clothes and plunged the spear into his quivering body. Copper joined in and they were both repetitively stabbing Henry.

Finally, the dogs straightened up as if they were proud soldiers and stormed out of the house.

Andrew was dizzy. He could feel his legs giving out beneath him. He hit the cold ground like a dropped rock and lost consciosness.

When Andrew awoke he was still on the ground. When he awoke, he knew that Tortimer was not running the show, but he was a figurehead, a diversion for Andrew's efforts. Still, he was leading the dogs when they killed Rasher. It was time to have a talk with Mr. Mayor.

Andrew looked down at the ground and picked something up. It was his axe. He had left it there when he saw Rasher's fist cocoon. This would be for Rasher.

The next thing Andrew knew, he was sprinting towards the town hall like a madman, all his fury and rage fueling his charge. This would end here.

He near broke in the door to the pathetic excuse for a town hall. Some damn pelican was behind a dusty old counter that smelled like shit. Andrew stormed over to the pelican and grabbed her by the shirt collar and yanked her down to face him.

"Where's the frigging turtle?!" Andrew burst out, all the rage and frustration pouring from his mouth.

"I don't know!" The pelican wailed like a child being interrogated by a furious teacher.

"I'm not a dipshit!" Andrew screamed, raising his axe, "You know where he is! Now tell me!"

"No, please!" The pelican bawled.

Andrew growled and pulled the bird over the desk and threw her to the ground, raising his axe.

"Fine! Fine! Please!" The pelican screamed, stopping Andrew's axe swing dead in its tracks. She stood, brushed herself off, and marched over to the recycling bin at the far side of the room. Using all her strength, she pushed it aside. There was something underneath it. It was a hole. A secret passage.

"He's in here." The pelican lamented.

Andrew nodded sullenly and walked down the cold, cement stairs. The air chilled him to the marrow.

That's when he heard her. The pelican cackled wildly like a witch. Did she have some kind of split personality. Before he could think anymore, the bin had been pushed back over the hole, leaving Andrew trapped and in total darkness.

" 


	10. Rated T for Torture

Andrew was cold. He was was in pain. And he was in darkness. But, out of all things, he was certainly not alone.

There was a light. A lantern hanging overhead flickered on as though it was announcing Andrew's arrival. What the hell was this place?

Dazed and confused, Andrew glanced around, absolutely aghast. What kind of grisly events had taken place here? It was as if he was glancing through a window back to the Spanish inquisition. Skeletons cluttered the room's hard, stone corners like dust bunnies under a couch. The walls were covered in blood smeared chains. Then there were the most fearsome things. Entire torture devices, including the Scavenger's Daughter, the most disturbing thing ever, used during the Spanish inquistion. An iron mask pulled the victim's head back and between their legs, crippling them. The iron maiden: a grisly coffin, the inside layered with spikes, impaling anyone unfortunate to get placed in it.

Near the center of the room there was a steel table. Upon which sat Tortimer.

"What the hell are you doing here, you sick bastard?!" Andrew screamed, brandishing his axe as menacingly as he could.

Tortimer shook his head sullenly, "It's a long story."

Rage was flooding Andrew's system like a toxin. This monster had murdered Rasher. This monster had murdered Rasher. And now he was acting like it was no big deal?!

"Shut up!" Andrew shouted as harshly as he could, he could feel tears forming at his eyes, "Shut up or I'll kill you!"

"Fine...kill me... I've suffered enough." Tortimer shook his head again, "I'm not responsible for this..."

"Liar!" Andrew accused.

"Boy," Tortimer whispered, "Have you ever heard of Johnathan Pritchard?"

Andrew nodded, "I heard that name somewhere..."

Tortimer nodded and continued his story, "That man is a serial killer. He's killed many innocent children. He was stalking a Jackson Blake. We were gonig to hide him in this world. But there was a change of plans. His mother withdrew after seeing that this would be the machine's first run. And that's where you came along."

"What are you talking about?" Andrew shouted, tears streaming freely down his cheeks like rivers.

"This isn't where you belong, isn't it obvious?" Tortimer sighed, "We put you in here to face challenges that would cure autism. Your mother was a risk taker.  
She said that you could do it. Me? I'm just an instrument the doctors use to supervise you. They see whatever I see. He locked me in here so that the doctors wouldn't see."

"Who's he? See what?" Andrew cried out, almost sobbing.

"See...See Pritchard kill you..." Tortimer whispered, "He found a back door in the system and hacked it. He made this room, expecting Jackson to be here. We run this system on some shitty game... Animal Crossing... the dream you had when you first woke up wasn't a dream. We tried to wipe it from your memory.  
You coincidentally told him your name was Jackson. Pritchard thinks you're his prey. And he's going to stop at nothing to kill you."

"No!" Andrew wailed, "It can't be true!"

"But it is," Tortimer lamented, "I'm sorry, boy." Tortimer stopped talking abruptly. Blood splattered all over the room. Just like with Stitches, Andrew saw a spear protruding from Tortimer's gut. It was a trap. An ambush.

"Booker," Copper commanded, "Take this body away and take some parts. We're going to need them. I'll finish the boy. Perhaps the scavenger's daughter will do him good."

Booker nodded and dragged Tortimer's limp carcass away.

Andrew's tears were pouring harder now. But they were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of fury.

"Oh, is the 'wittle baby crying?" Copper teased like an asshole.

This bastard had killed Rasher.

"You really thought you could outsmart me?" Copper laughed out loud.

He had killed Henry.

"I hope you enjoy pain," Copper hissed.

He had killed Tortimer.

"Have fun in hell," Copper laughed.

And he had killed any bit of mercy Andrew had left. It was over.

"Time for," Copper began but he could not finish. Andrew charged him with his axe, screaming like a madman and hacking at his limbs. Copper was taken aback and his spear was knocked out of his arms.

Copper reached for Andrew's throat, only to have his arm hacked off. In seconds, the armless copper was pushed into the scavenger's daughter.

"Have mercy..." Copper whispered.

"You've killed it all!" Andrew barked, yanking on the chain to the scavenger's daughter. Copper cried out in anguish.

"Where is Pritchard?!" Andrew barked in complete fury.

"I don't know!" Copper whimpered like the dog he was.

"Where is Pritchard?!" Andrew shouted again, spitting all over Copper's mask. He was running low on rage.

"I don't know!" Copper wailed, sobbing and crying.

Andrew let go of the chain, sending Copper's head shooting back up, "Fine. I'll let you rott here then, you useless piece of scum." Andrew stormed out of the torture chamber, leaving behind a sobbing Copper, reduced to a pathetic puppy. 


	11. Pritchard's New Body

As if the devil were after him, Andrew dashed from the town hall and over to the tree. The tree where Rasher's arm had been nailed. He had a theory...

Andrew stared up at the tree, clutching Copper's abandoned spear so tightly his fingers bled. Copper's malformed body was stitched up, pieces from various residents sewn onto it like some kind of demonic quilt. It was covered with hair and feathers and stained with blood, wings sprouting from its back and nailed precariously to the tree. The new Frankensteinesque creation hung from the tree upside-down by its scaly feet.

There was a fog descending upon the village. And Andrew knew what was about to happen. It was a scene from Mary Shelly's Frankenstein replayed with the veryessence of a true nightmare. The body would come to life. Pritchard was coming to finish the job himself.

The eyes set in Copper's mutilated head turned a blazing red. It was happening the residents were coming out of the fog one by one, circling around the tree and chanting like some bizzarre cult. They each held a razor blade and were drawing blood from themselves, leaving it pooled at their feet. The pool of blood slowly expanded until it was touching Andrew's sneakers, seeping inside.

The first one to fall was the pelican from the post office. Then a six foot mouse, covered in blood stained brown fur. They all fell, one by one, all dying of blood loss. It was a furry slaughterhouse.

That's when it happened. The body dropped from the tree and onto the ground, lying limp and pathetic in the pool of blood. Was this Pritchard's attack?

Pritchard had failed. All he had done was bringing a mist upon the village and stitching together a shitty body. That's when Andrew noticed something horrific.  
His feet were dry. The body was absorbing the blood off the ground, filling itself up like a gluttonous vampire.

The body slowly staggered to it's feet, stumbling back and forth as though in a nightmarish earthquake only it could feel. A scaly finger pointed itself straight at Andrew's heart like a homing missile. The hissed words that seeped from the body's mouth sounded like a soft yet horrifying, "You..."

And Andrew was off, running as fast as his blood soaked legs could carry him through the village. The creature was gliding after him on its bloody wings,  
flying much faster than Andrew could run. It was the ratio of a bullet to an SUV, a hawk against a jackrabbit.

With his miniscule headstart, Andrew was able to crash through the door at his own home and lock it tightly. The door was quivering in its frame as the body pounded against it with the full force of its talons.

"Let me the hell in, you shitty little boy!" The creature rasped through its violent slams. The door couldn't possibly hold up much longer. And there was only one other way out.

Still clutching Copper's spear, Andrew made his way to the fireplace at the end of the room and climbed slowly as the chimney. When he was about eight feet up, he heard the door below him splinter and collapse. The monster had found its way in.

"Where are you, little boy?" The creature howled, climbing up the fireplace like a gecko from hell.

Andrew pulled himself from the bowels of the ash ridden hell of a chimney and onto his roof, gasping for breath.

The body fluttered out of the chimney behind him like a bullet with butterfly wings, slamming down onto the roof next to him. The entire house shook with the weight of the creature, sending Andrew tumbling to the surface of the slanted roof, dangling from the shingles for dear life.

The creature slowly advanced on him, the hissed words spilling from its mouth in a rasy voice, "End of the line boy."

Copper's mouth opened as if to engulf Andrew's head. No, it wouldn't end like this. Pritchard's head came from the back of Copper's throat, taking up his entire mouth like a dog halloween mask.

The truth hit Andrew like a car crash on the freeway. He had seen the man in the news... this was all fake...

Andrew raised the spear, pointing it straight at Pritchard's face with his trembling hand, his other hand was occupied with the seemingly insurmountable task of clutching the roof and avoiding a fifty foot fall. "Don't move, or I'll kill you..." Andrew gasped with his wavering voice.

"Ha!' Pritchard cackled, "I've been watching you for three years! You don't have the balls to do that!"

A dark grin spread across Andrew's face as Pritchard lunged at him, "I'm not the right kid."

It all happened in a flash. The Pritchard's body was impaled on the spear, Andrew standing upright on the roof and clutching it with all his might.

"Have fun in hell, you son of a bitch," Andrew hissed, releasing the spear and letting Pritchard's body fall fifty feet to the ground below. 


	12. The End

Andrew's eyes flashed open for the first time as if he had just awoken from a lucid dream. His eyes adjusted to the light in the sterile medical facility. It was finally over...

"Mom..." He whispered to the woman kneeling beside him.

They embraced tightly and Andrew knew that at last he was free from his hell. 


End file.
